


King of Pain

by VivatRex



Series: Wishful Sinful [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood Drinking, Drowley Smut, Drunk Crowley, Episode: s09e16 Blade Runners, High Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-24 02:12:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1587875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VivatRex/pseuds/VivatRex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley's fallen farther than Dean ever imagined, and the demon is sure he's beyond saving - however, Dean disagrees. Passionately disagrees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	King of Pain

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this as a Dean/Crowley friendship fic a week or so before Blade Runners aired, but I thought to myself, hey, this would make a really good Drowley smut fic, if I tweaked a few things. So that's what I did, and here it is. Basically an AU for the start of Blade Runners. Also, this is my first time writing graphic sex, so if it totally sucks, my apologies.

Although he was loathe to admit it, Dean was beginning to get worried.

Worried about fucking _Crowley_ , of all people.

Crowley was not the type of guy (demon, whatever) to suddenly fall off of the grid. Dean knew from experience that he always had his damn iPhone in hand or within reach, and being the ever-present politician, he couldn't imagine him choosing to be unreachable for weeks on end.

So... where the hell was he?

Dean made himself a nasty habit of leaving Crowley voicemails on a daily basis since the King had stopped picking up his phone. After Dean received the Mark, he'd called Crowley twice to check in over the following two weeks - he'd answered both times, snarked out a few insults and/or innuendos at Dean, then said something along the lines of, "Oh, bottom of the deepest ocean, isn't that just bloody _specific_? So pardon me if it's a bit of a work in progress!"

Then, he stopped answering when Dean called. And now it had been going on three weeks since he'd heard a single damn thing from Crowley.

And he was thinking about this _way_ too much.

 _I'm only worried because he's the only one who can find the blade,_ Dean reasoned. _That's it. That's all. It's not like I actually care about what happens to the little limey mook._

So, when his phone buzzed in his pocket, he tried not to get his hopes up. It could be any number of people. Like... he thought for a long moment. Cas. It could be Cas. Or Garth. Maybe Jody.

He slid off his head phones, the dulcet tones of James Hetfield fading as he took his phone out of his pocket. His eyes widened when he saw the caller ID. Triple sixes.

"Crowley," he said to himself. He picked up, quickly jamming the phone to his ear. "What the _hell_ -" he began, but was cut off before he could fully get into his rant.

"Squirrrrrrrrrrel," Crowley slurred. "It's been too long, darling."

"Where the hell have you been?" Dean snapped, trying to ignore the fact that Crowley sounded totally smashed. "I've been calling you for weeks, you douche!"

"Couldn't get to the phone. Been busy," he drawled, his accent so thick at the moment that Dean could barely understand what he was saying. "I've... uh... may've fallen off the wagon, actually. A bit."

Dean sat up, his brow furrowing. "Define falling off the wagon."

There was a stuttered laugh on the other end. "You were right, y'know, I'm a... I'm a junkie. Human blood. I managed to stay off it for awhile... but..." There was a pause. "Gonna have to give back my blood junkies anonymous sobriety chip, mate."

"Are you high right now?" This didn't sound anything like the Crowley that he knew. The suave, always in control businessman.

"High. Drunk. 'M all kinds of fun things at the moment," Crowley informed him. There was a sniffling sound on the other end. "I didn't mean to _kill_ her, I swear. I forgot how easy it was to exsanguinate you squishy people..."

"You killed someone!?" He didn't know why he was so surprised by that - Crowley was the King of Hell. He killed people on a daily basis, most likely.

A shaky intake of breath. "It was an accident," he mumbled. "I promise. Pinky swear."

"Damn it, Crowley!"

"She's in the bathtub. She was a whore. They're much more expensive than they used to be, did y'know that?"

"For the love of- where the hell are you?" Dean demanded, already rising from his bed. Wherever Crowley was, he'd gone completely off the deep-end.

"I..." There was a fumbling sound. "The Meadowview. I'm in... where am I... I'm in Vegas, I think."

"What room?"

"173," Crowley told him. "Gonna slip in a visit tonight, Squirrel? I always knew you'd jump m'bones eventually..."

"Go to hell," Dean growled. "Stay where you are. I'm coming to you. I'll be there before dark - and don't kill any more hookers!" He hung up the phone before Crowley could deliver a reply. Dean grabbed his duffel bag from his closet - it was only half-packed, but he didn't care at the moment - and then scooped up the Impala's keys up from his night stand.

He exited his room, headed into the foyer and then up the stairs, his destination the garage. He didn't bother telling Sam where he was going. He doubted very much that his younger brother would care, anyway.

In two minutes time, the Impala was pulling onto the dusty Kansas road, and he was headed for Vegas.

* * *

As the sun set on Las Vegas, Dean stood outside of Room 173, and he couldn't help but feel anxious at what he might find inside. Crowley had sounded completely wrecked on the phone... Dean wasn't used to dealing with Crowley in any capacity other than reluctant allies or enemies.

He was never in a position where Crowley might need... _help_ , or something. Real help. Like _emotional_ help. Which was not even close to Dean's area of expertise.

However, he'd seen his fair share of addiction in his time, and faced it himself. So if he was going to have to drag the King of Hell out of here kicking and screaming and then sober him up, then so be it. Not because he cared, because they needed Crowley to find the blade so they could kill Abaddon, and they needed Crowley in control of Hell and not some other demon.

That was all.

Dean sighed, knocking on the door. At first, he received no response. Huffing, Dean pounded harder on the door. "Hey, your majesty, you mind letting me in?" Still nothing. "Crowley, open the damn door or I'm breaking it down!"

There was a click. The hotel room door swung open. Crowley must've opened it with his mind, as he wasn't standing in front of the door. Dean slipped in, closing the door behind him, and took in the disaster of a hotel room.

The Meadowview was a relatively high class hotel. Certainly more than he and Sam would ever be able to afford. Right now, however, it was in worse shape than even the scuzziest motels that he and his brother had stayed at.

Empty bottles of Craig, champagne, and expensive wine littered the room, and many of the stains on the floor seemed to match the contents that had once been in the bottles. The whole placed reeked of booze, and underneath that stench, Dean caught a faint whiff of death and decay - his eyes went to the bathroom door, which was pointedly shut.

Clothes were scattered over the floor of the room. He could see Crowley's suit coat, button-down, wool overcoat, trousers, socks, boxers ( _Ew_ , Dean thought distractedly) and shoes all thrown helter skelter around the room. Then, a skimpy skirt, brassiere, tank top, and heels. All presumably belonging to the woman now drained and dead in the hotel bathtub.

The TV was on; the show seemed vaguely familiar. People in white lab coats were milling around - it wasn't _Doctor Sexy_ , but it seemed to be a medical drama of some variety. _House MD_ , he was pretty sure.

Enter Crowley. He was laying spread eagle and face down on the king-sized bed, his head smashed into one of the pillows and the white comforter tangled around his legs. He was in a black bathrobe that mercifully covered enough of him so that he was at least somewhat decent. He wasn't moving at the moment, but if he'd opened the door, he must've been in at least partially okay condition.

Dean's eyes went to the night stand. Empty needles on a bloodstained steel tray. There were over a dozen of them.

"Crowley!" Dean called, walking over to the bed, making sure to avoid the various bottles and long-stemmed glasses on the floor. He put a hand on the demon's shoulder and shook him. This elicited nothing but an unhelpful groan from Crowley.

"Go away."

Dean rolled his eyes, pushing at Crowley's side until he'd flipped the demon king over. His beard had gotten much thicker since the last time Dean had seen him. His hair was longer as well, and not in its usual neatly combed state, but rather in a wild disarray, sticking up in odd places.

His dark green eyes were bright, feverish. He was jonesing, hard. And if the smell of the demon's breath was any indication, he was still wasted as well.

"Wow. You look like shit," Dean commented. Crowley threw an arm over his eyes, as apparently the light was too much for him.

"You sure do know how to make a girl feel special," he said, his words still dragging.

Dean paced around the hotel room, trying to figure out how to approach this. There wasn't exactly a handbook on how to deal with demon kings that went off the rails.

"So, this is what you've been doing for weeks?" Dean inquired, walking over to the wall length window. He looked out at the twinkling Las Vegas lights. There was a thin strip of orange on the horizon, a fading remnant of the blazing hot desert sun. "Laying around, getting high, drinking until you can barely remember your name and watching _House_ reruns?"

" _House_ is a beautiful program," Crowley slurred. "And I can remember my name just fine," he continued weakly. " _Crowley_. Only one word, 's not exactly difficult." Crowley sat up with a good deal of effort, leaning over the side of his bed to grasp a half empty glass of champagne sitting on the floor. Dean quickly snatched it out of his hand.

"Uh-uh. I'm cutting you off, starting now," Dean said, setting the glass on the TV stand. Crowley shot him a glare and twirled his fingers. The glass reappeared in his hands. Defiantly, he downed the remainder in one gulp. "You're a fucking child, you know that?"

"Oh, now you've gone and hurt my feelings," Crowley muttered, dropping the glass to the ground and rolling over on his side away from Dean. "Get out of here, Squirrel. I don't need you."

"You need someone," Dean countered. "And there ain't anyone else lining up to come and drag your ass outta here, so I guess it's gotta be me."

"I never asked you to come for me. I never asked for help from you or anyone else," Crowley growled, his words barely more than a rumble in his throat.

"You called me," Dean pointed out, coming to stand at Crowley bedside.

"I was drunk."

"You're _still_ drunk."

"I was drunker then," Crowley argued petulantly. "Get out."

"No," Dean said. "I'm not leaving you." _Where the hell did that come from?_ "I'm dragging you back to the bunker, and we're getting you clean."

"Why bother? Shouldn't you be happy that I'm like this... that I'm ruined?" Crowley let out a bitter little laugh that led into a drunken hiccup. "Not much of a threat to you and yours now, am I?"

Dean just shook his head. "Yeah, well, for the time being, we're on the same side. And aren't you forgetting something? Like the fact that Abaddon is running around raising Hell and trying to usurp you? Oh, and the magic Knight killing knife you're supposed to be looking for, remember that?"

"What's the point, eh? Abaddon's stronger than me. Half of my followers defected to her as soon as I was indisposed... if there's no loyalty, there's no power... no kingdom..." Crowley let out an unsteady breath. "I'm a fake king on a plastic throne," he murmured, burying himself further under the covers.

Great. Now he was getting poetic on him.

"No, you're not," Dean insisted. "You're better than this, Crowley. You're better than getting wasted in some hotel room while everything you worked so damn hard for comes crashing down. You're better than shooting up with human blood and drinking a friggin' liquor store."

"How do you know what I am?" Crowley hissed. "You don't have a clue."

"We've been enemies for so long, we're practically friends," Dean said. "And yeah, I know that you're better than this." He bit the inside of his lip. "I don't even understand how you got hooked on the stuff. I mean, what could human blood even do for you?"

Crowley shifted onto his back, and he watched Dean with glistening eyes. "Do you know what it's like to feel _nothing_?" he asked lowly. "To feel cold, to feel empty for _centuries_?" Crowley pulled up the sleeve of his robe, revealing a grouping of tracks marks in the crook of his elbow, the entire area bruised and swollen from the amount of times it'd been stabbed with the syringe. "This makes me feel again. It makes me feel _something_." He let his head sink back against the pillows. "It makes me feel _alive_ ," he whispered.

"What you're feeling can't be anything good," Dean said, and his stomach was doing unpleasant flips. This wasn't Crowley. The mess of a demon in front of him wasn't the omnipresent, collected, manipulative King he'd known for years.

Right now, he seemed... hell, he almost seemed _human_.

"It's not," Crowley admitted, allowing his sleeve to fall from his grasp. "But it's better than nothing." He closed his eyes for a moment. "Anyway, that's what the alcohol's for. Dulls... everything."

"So what, you want to feel enough, but not too much?" Dean asked, a hint of anger slipping into his voice.

"Ding-ding, give that girl a cigar," Crowley said, covering his eyes with his palms and dragging in a ragged breath. "If I was just throwing down the blood, I probably would've killed myself by now."

The stunning bluntness of the comment hit Dean square in the chest, almost knocking the breath out of him. The idea of Crowley killing himself rooted itself into his mind, and Dean found he didn't like the thought - not at all. In spite of threatening to kill the demon on a routine basis, he just...

He didn't want him to die.

No. He really didn't.

"That's not how being human works, Crowley," Dean said. "You can't just take the good and leave the crap. You gotta deal with all the shit, the guilt, the self-loathing - if you want any of the good stuff to mean anything, you have to feel the bad stuff, too."

"What good stuff?" Crowley asked. He lowered his hands from his eyes, and Dean saw that he was crying. Oh, that was a whole new level of wrong. "What could I feel that would be good? Pride?" He gestured at himself pointedly. "Happiness? What've I got to be happy about?" A tear escaped his eye and trailed down his cheek, getting lost in his beard. "I've got nothing."

"Crowley..."

"And love?" He snorted. "What've I got to love? Who could I love... who the hell would love _me_? I'm a bloody monster!" Crowley grimaced, averting his eyes. "This is why I need the booze."

"That's the last thing you need," Dean said, and he bent down, throwing Crowley's arm over his shoulder and hauling the demon out of his bed. He was pliant under his grip. Once he was standing, Crowley was steady enough, so he released him. "Pack your trash. We're leaving."

Crowley looked at him, and Dean was a little frightened by what he saw there. From what he felt radiating off of the demon. Dark, angry, pulsing hunger. Crowley licked his lips, his eyes going blank.

"Been almost two days," he murmured, nostrils flaring. "I... I can smell it in you."

Dean went to back away. "You're freaking me out, man-"

Suddenly, hands were bunched in the fabric of his jacket, and he was thrown onto the bed. Damn it - he'd forgotten that even in a weakened, drunk state, Crowley was still about ten times stronger than he was.

The demon straddled him, pinning him down by the shoulders. Dean wished he had Ruby's knife, but he'd stupidly left it with Sam. "Get the hell off of me!"

Crowley didn't respond, instead lowering his mouth to Dean's neck and biting down hard. Dean groaned, wincing as the demon's teeth sank into his flesh. He struggled, but Crowley was too strong. The demon sucked on his wound, draining as much blood as he could, tongue lapping up the fluid that pooled on his skin.

Crowley's breath was hot on his neck, his tongue even hotter. Must be the whole demon-Hellfire-thing. Dean's hands went to Crowley's shoulders, and he dug in his blunt nails, trying to budge the demon off of him, but he was firmly latched onto Dean.

Crowley moaned into Dean's neck, sending vibrations through his upper body. Dean sucked in a sharp breath - what the fuck was happening here?

The demon pulled back, gasping for breath. Dean's blood dripped down his chin, and his teeth and lips were stained with it. His eyes flashed Crossroads red for a few brief moments, the first time Dean had ever seen them do so.

"You taste delicious," Crowley murmured huskily before diving down to lick the remainder of Dean's blood from his neck, his body pressing flush against Dean's own.

Dean felt something stirring in the pit of his stomach, and he was suddenly having trouble getting air. His body was reacting to Crowley - he didn't know why, didn't even want to imagine why - but nonetheless, it was. The urge to flail and kick until he was free warred with his desire to press closer, to-

Crowley's face was suddenly very close to his, his crimson-stained lips only a breath away. His eyes were green again, but the pupils were so dilated that they might as well have been black. Black just like the low class demons he so often claimed to hate.

"Crowley." _Crowley, stop. Crowley, keep going. God, what is wrong with me?_

Crowley's hand left his right shoulder and came to rest on the side of his face. His hand was small, only covering a portion of his face. His thumb brushed over Dean's brow. He recognized the gesture for what it was - a chance for him to get away. Crowley was offering him a chance to stop this. He wasn't holding him down anymore.

_Make a break for it, what are you doing!? Are you seriously going to let this keep going? He's a demon! He's a demon inside of some old dude!_

But still, he didn't move.

Crowley leaned in, their lips just barely brushing each other. "I wonder... do your lips taste as good as your blood?" he mused in that _stupid fucking voice_ of his. It was leather and scotch, fire and brimstone. It was like sex, and God, did he hate the things it was doing to him.

Without further ado, Crowley sealed his blood dampened lips over his, and Dean's eyes fell closed almost against his will. It was just a simple slide of skin to skin, just the King's lips softly pressing against his own, moving almost gently, but fuck if he didn't feel hotter than he had in years. The demon tasted like blood, Dean's own blood, and expensive alcohol that he and Sam couldn't dream of affording.

And sulfur. Yeah, there was a lot of that, too. But for some reason, it didn't bother him. Not tonight.

A tongue flicked over his lips, smooth as velvet. Crowley's other hand left his shoulder, smoothed down his chest tantalizingly slow. His other hand was still caressing his face like he was some kind of precious fucking treasure.

Sam could barely stand to be around him. Cas was gone - God only knows where he was or what he was doing - and he felt more alone than ever. And here was Crowley, Crowley making him feel warm and... and _cared for_. Sure, the stoned little bastard was probably just high out of his mind and horny, but the way he was touching him... it'd been a long ass time since someone had touched him like that.

_Lisa was the last one who touched you like this._

Ashamed of his own weakness, he opened his mouth, and Crowley slid in. His hand continued down Dean's chest, down his stomach, then came to rest over the bulge in his jeans. Dean bucked up into the demon's palm, barely able to smother a gasp at the sensation. Crowley's lips worked against his own, his tongue darting into his mouth in quick strokes as the kiss became more heated. More hungry.

Almost angry at how he was reacting, he nipped at the bottom of Crowley's lip. He was surprised when the demon moaned into his mouth. He pulled back, resting his forehead against Dean's. He was undoing the button of Dean's jeans, now. "Always knew you were hiding a rainbow tie-dye underneath all that flannel," he growled out, breathless.

"Just..." Just what? Hurry? Be gentle? Go easy on him? _Or go slow and make me scream?_

Zip. The comforting hand left his face, and he missed it. Crowley's pressed a quick kiss to his lips before sliding down his body. He felt the demon's own erection grazing his stomach as he moved. Crowley began working on Dean's belt, unbuckling it before guiding it out of its loops. He tossed it to the side; it landed somewhere in the other refuse. Crowley kissed Dean's lower stomach, and he couldn't hold it back - he fucking _whimpered._

"You want this," Crowley mused, dragging his lips down Dean's happy trail, not kissing, just resting there. "You want _me_." He nipped at the last bit of visible skin over Dean's pants. "Isn't that interesting?"

His hands left Crowley's shoulders, where he'd been hanging on for dear life for the past several minutes, and instead flew to his head, fingers weaving into the soft strands of his hair. "Crowley... I - I need you to do something here, or I'm gonna go insane."

Crowley's thumbs hooked onto two his belt loops, and he tugged down until they were around his knees. "Just lay back and relax, darling," he murmured, trailing kisses up Dean's thigh.

Christ, when did breathing become so difficult? Crowley reached the area that Dean want him to pay attention to most, and he mouthed at his erection through the thin fabric of his boxers. The heat and dampness made Dean growl low in his throat, similar to a feral animal. He didn't even give a shit that Crowley was getting blood on his favorite pair of shorts.

Dean thrusted up, digging his blunt fingernails into Crowley's scalp. The demon huffed out a laugh, then slipped Dean out of his boxers, letting his straining erection breathe. "My, my," Crowley drawled. "And here I was, thinking that the tough guy act was to make up for something. I've never been so happy to be wrong."

"Damn it, Crowley-" Crowley cut off his plea for his mouth by licking along the length of his shaft. Dean bit down hard on his bottom lip and held back a scream. It had been a damn long time, since that Casa Erotica girl in Sioux Falls months ago. Needless to say, he was raring and ready to go.

"Do you want me to swallow you, Dean?" Crowley mumbled against his cock. "As deep as I can? Do you want to fuck my throat?"

"Do you always talk dirty like this when you're stoned out of your mind?" Dean asked, breathless, while he pulled Crowley in closer to his crotch, practically rubbing the demon's nose into his dick.

"Oh, love, I'm _always_ talking dirty," Crowley said, and he could feel the demon smirk... and then Crowley took him into his mouth and choked him down almost completely, and he let out a noise that was halfway between a groan and a yell.

_"Crowley!"_

Crowley hummed, seeming to like the sound of his name, and it sent vibrations up Dean's cock that made him want to fucking sing. Crowley's mouth worked up and down his shaft, tongue and lips doing things to him that he wouldn't have fantasized about on his most creative days.

He wasn't going to be able to hold himself back much longer, and with sudden certainty, he knew that he didn't want to come into Crowley's mouth. He yanked the demon up, and his cock slid out of the King's mouth, exposing it to the cold air. Dean lamented the loss, but he was thinking of a different orifice right now.

He dragged Crowley up until he was level with him, and then he rolled so that his weight was pinning the demon down. Crowley seemed amused. Amused, and horribly turned on.

"Going to get all dominating on me?" he asked, holding Dean's chin. He leaned up so that his lips were against his ear. "Do you want to fuck me, Dean?" He kissed the shell of Dean's ear, and it only further cemented his decision.

Logic be damned. Consqequences be damned. Forthcoming sexual identity crisis be damned. He was going to fuck the King of Hell tonight.

"You ask... _really_ stupid questions..." Dean breathed out before moving his hands down to untie Crowley's black bath robe. He pushed the thin fabric off of the demon's shoulders, and once he was free of it, he hurled it off of the bed. It pooled on the ground. Just like that, Crowley was naked underneath him. Although the demon's vessel had a bit of weight to it, it was toned as well. Not bad. No, not bad at all.

Dean kicked off his shoes, then freed himself of his boxers and jeans, so he was naked from the waist down. Crowley swiftly pulled him down into a searing, possessive kiss, halting his progress. He let it go on for a few minutes, experimentally grinding down against Crowley's crotch to see what kind of noises he could elicit. Crowley let out an ungodly groan at the friction, biting down on Dean's bottom lip, surprisingly hard. Hard enough to draw blood.

Guess Crowley needed another fix to get through the foreplay.

Crowley sucked at his lips hungrily, and Dean tried hard not to feel like some kind of weird blood whore as he put his hands around the King's narrow hips. Crowley's hands went down his chest, fingernails trailing over his nipples and then leaving thin pink lines along his abs. Once there was no blood left to be had, the demon pulled away, moving down to kiss the unbitten side of Dean's neck.

"Don't keep me waiting, Squirrel, unless you want to go back to your brother looking like a chew toy," Crowley whispered, and he couldn't tell if his tone was thick with lust, or an underlying threat. The demon teased his teeth over Dean's sensitive skin.

Yeah, okay. It was definitely time to get things moving.

"You... you need lube, right?" he asked, feeling almost embarrassed by his own inexperience. This wasn't exactly what he was used to. Crowley's hand was on his dick in a flash, and Dean gasped. The demon slid his hand down his length, and suddenly, it was coated thickly in lube.

"Demon powers. Bloody useful," he murmured, kissing along Dean's jaw. In a flash, they were flipped over again, and Crowley was on top of him. He wanted to protest, but when Crowley positioned himself over Dean's cock, he decided not the complain. The demon eased down on Dean's cock, taking it fully into him with a few low groans that sent electricity bolting down straight to his groin.

When he was sheathed fully, Crowley grabbed the headboard for support, then started moving in a pneumatic rhythm, riding Dean's cock with all he had. Dean dug his fingers into the soft flesh of Crowley's hips, throwing his head back and losing himself in the sensation. Crowley was hot, and _God_ , was he tight. And in those moments, those stolen moments in the hotel room that reeked of blood and death and booze, he forgot that his partner was the human-blood-addicted King of Hell. He forgot that he was a demon. He forgot that he was a man.

He forgot anything other than the fact that he was inside of Crowley and it felt _so fucking good_.

Each time Crowley fucked himself onto Dean's dick, his cock bounced against his stomach, throbbing and neglected, and Dean couldn't help but feel guilty that he was getting the five star treatment, and Crowley wasn't getting anything. He grabbed Crowley's cock, which seemed to surprise him, and he began pumping it in time with the demon's thrusts, trying to make it good for him. He'd only ever done this on himself, but the principal was the same.

It wasn't long before he felt himself about to come undone, faster than he had in ages.

Their movements became more desperate, less coordinated. They were both hunting for that one movement that would send them over the edge, that perfect moment-

"CROWLEY!" His hand left the demon's dick, going back to gripping his hips with a force that would've badly hurt him, had he been human. As Crowley came back down on his cock a final time, Dean came, spending himself dry inside of the demon. And yes - yes, that was better than coming down the demon's throat. Much better. Crowely clenched around him, threw his head back, eyes flashing Crossroads red once again. Bloody eyes, bloody teeth and lips - blood everywhere. Of course. He was fucking a demon, why would he expect anything different?

Crowley came with a wolf-like growl, emptying himself onto his stomach in hot, sticky spurts. Dean was still sheathed inside of him, still felt the impossible warmth of the demon. He moved his hands up to Crowley's back and pulled him down into an embrace, surprising the both of them with the tenderness of the gesture. They were both a mess of sweat and blood and cum, but it didn't matter. He needed the closeness. He didn't want to just roll away and go to sleep, or get up, get dressed, and leave.

He slid out of Crowley, his cock hanging limply between his legs. Gasping for breath, Crowley buried his face into Dean's neck, placing a soft kiss there. "That... was brilliant," he managed. "Tens across the board, Squirrel. I mean that."

Dean sighed, caught between contentment and the distinct feeling of being used. "Yeah, whatever," he responded. "Once you're sobered up, you'll probably forget this even happened."

Crowley chuckled, his lips still tickling the skin of Dean's throat. "Oh, some things are unforgettable. Fucking Mr. Righteous Man, Heaven's golden boy and a _Winchester_ no less? Please. I'll always remember this taudry little affair."

"Getting fucked by," he corrected. "I guess I'm a real notch in your belt, huh?"

"Most definitely." He adjusted himself so he wasn't fully on top of Dean, instead nestled into his side. He laid his head on Dean's chest, and Dean found his arm naturally going around the demon's back. "And not to mention, I don't plan on getting sober anytime soon."

"This doesn't change anything, Crowley. I'm still bringing you back to the bunker, and you're still gonna detox."

Crowley gave him a sharp look - as sharp as he could in his current inebriated state. "Like Hell I am."

"I'll chain you up if I have to."

One of Crowley's eyebrows arched. "Such a flirt, Dean." His expression softened somewhat. "You can't save everyone, you know."

Dean caught Crowley's chin in his hand and tilted his head up, looking the King dead in the eyes. "Fucking. _Watch me_."


End file.
